Miniskirt
by Mandy138
Summary: [Drabble[shortstory[RoyAi] Probably most related to Animeverse for the use of Pride, but pure conjecture dealing with a fight between Flame and Pride.


Yes… A drabble, and my first one at that. I used to think them quite annoying, but am now a fan of them as they are a way to present ideas that have no need for a full story background. :D

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He slid on the sand-dusted and caked desert ground to an abrupt stop in front of her, flicking his left hand out to throw a blast as he coughed into his right. Quickly glancing at his hand, he sighed to himself at the blood soaking through the already torn and ruined glove. Pride had been quick to disable that weapon first and the addition of his blood wouldn't render it any less useful, he just hated to see the white dirtied. 

Well, since it was already beyond saving, he didn't see what adding more to it would do. So turning his eyes before him once more and bringing the tattered red fabric up to his lips, he wiped the remaining flecks on them and the trail off to the side away before spitting out the rest. He watched as the desert wind swirled the cloud before him, waiting for it to clear and disclose the condition of their enemy, the bloodied saliva slowly soaking unnoticed into the sand, staining.

He was aware of Hawkeye currently aiming her spent gun under the left arm he'd thrown in front of her following his own attack. He'd managed to counter it. Even with the Ultimate Eye, Pride could not control _all_ the air flow in such an open environment. No, he was most deadly in enclosed spaces, and a desert was as far from that as could be imagined. And even though they stood in ruins, the sky was never larger than in the desert. Yes, he'd managed to stop it and hit the homunculus as hard as he could…but all the attacks landed on his self-

The bubble he'd been fighting in his throat finally overcame him and he wrenched his hand up, heaving into it. After it subsided, much longer than was good, he looked at his glove peripherally, red droplets raining from the fingertips as its saturated fabric overflowed. He gave it a light shake as it passed from even his peripheral vision, droplets dotting the sand, sight taken over by the departing cloud, and mind occupied by red. Those sonic attacks landed would cost him dearly, indeed. The steady tang in his mouth had only gotten stronger since the last two and he feared permanent damage.

A shadow was finally visible, and thank all, it was on the ground, the dust continuing its dissipation to show that Pride would not be getting up again. But they both wanted to be sure and neither moved, waiting for all to clear away so no doubt would be left in their minds. Even in all this open air, it was sure taking it's time and he didn't think he could stand much longer.

Damn, he had a headache. The itch in his raw throat fought its way out through both his mouth and head and he gave up on trying to stand even as the assuredly dead body clarified. He collapsed backwards into Riza and pinned her to the ruin wall, taking her by surprise as his fuzzy brain registered the reaction time of her grabbing him under the arms. It was amazing how he could even register _that_ given as he couldn't even remain standing, stop coughing, or see all that clearly, at the moment.

"Colonel!" the alarmed cry came even as she lowered his significantly heavier weight as gently as possible, sliding down against the wall. For whatever reason, she kept his full weight against her. Maybe in her _clear_ logical mind she figured if he could no longer stand that it would be best not to move him. He didn't know and couldn't really bring himself to care for anything except how warm she was and how this was as comfortable as he'd been all day. "Sir, are you alright?"

He couldn't really see anything but the blue and tan blur in front of him that he _knew_ to be the horizon, even if he couldn't _see_ it. He was, however, aware of her head directly to the left of his in the black space where his peripheral sight denied him her visage, her concerned voice low in his ear.

"Colonel, you need help…" It was spoken in that rare gentle manner he so loved, but he could hear the tightness running through it. And he'd intended to address it after his most recent fit ended, but she'd distracted him from that with her exclamation at the blood on his face and then his glove. Apparently, he had massive internal injuries and all this coughing of blood was the betraying sign of his hemorrhaging. He didn't need to tell her that, though, she already knew. And he was pretty sure she also already knew that the kind of help he needed didn't exist, let alone being able to reach them in time.

Hm, he didn't remember closing his eyes, but he must have, for everything was black. The beautiful blur of blue and tan was now gone and a hand placed itself against his forehead, having weaved under his unruly hair, and supplied a steady pressure. It was in that motion that he realized he'd fallen back, his head resting against his lieutenant's comfortable shoulder. He sighed.

Damn. It seemed all his senses were going. He coughed violently, unable to muster even enough strength to cover his mouth this time. He half felt, half heard his lieutenant's bellow at the occurrence. He figured it was probably about the additional amount of blood that must have come forth, because he could dully feel her futile attempt to wipe it off his lips and chin.

A mental sigh could be felt and he briefly marveled at how there was only regret in place of all the _other_ emotions people were said to feel in this situation. All he had ever wanted was a sexy army. And one that had many a parade showing wouldn't have been _un_appreciated, either.

"Roy Mustang, don't you _dare_ close your eyes!"

Had he? He couldn't tell…

"Lieutenant," he choked out softly and was promptly answered with the thud of her head atop his left shoulder, her arms sliding further up from under his to rest their hands on his shoulders, tightly digging into the pads as she squeezed him. He was sure it was meant to hide the tears but he couldn't feel them through the thick military uniform, at least not yet. Though he could tell that her lips were quivering from the vibrations rippling throughout said material and he idly thought on how he wouldn't have minded this embrace under different circumstances…

Regret, hm?

"At the very least, Lieutenant," the halted whisper came, taking much more concentration than such a thing should, "I wanted to see you in one." He could no longer separate thought from speech but he was not even aware of _that_ or the increased tear flow in his lieutenant's wide horror-stricken eyes as she got it.

"...my…miniskirt."

The vague sensation of her previous embrace burst momentarily, squeezing a last sigh before all sensation of it rapidly faded and he drifted of within a black vastness as the exhalation reached its end.

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O.o Dunno what it is with me but I have all these visions of death for hotty Roy. I'm not sure what to think on this one, anyway, and not sure how I feel about the ending as it didn't quite flow as well as the rest of the story…? Hah, I'm not even sure on that. ;P So feel free to offer suggestions on what might make it _feel_ a little more solid because I'm kind of stuck on that. 

And I guess I take it back, this didn't turn out to be a drabble at all. 0.0;;


End file.
